Former wedding planner Anne Raskin, 38, has been standing on the corner of Broad and High for the last six weeks. Despite the 90-degree heat, she wears what could easily be mistaken for monastic robes, but upon closer inspection, is actually an off-brand Deluxe Jedi Costume from Walmart. She holds a bell in one hand, and a doomsday sign that says “The End is Nigh” in the other.
“She’s out there all day, every day,” says Virginia Shaw, 52, a tour guide at the nearby Ohio Statehouse. “Just ringing that bell and shouting about the end times. It’s pathetic. Especially the part about the grey pubes.”
“Oh God, with the pubes,” confirms U.S. Bank employee Kevin Kowalski, 27. “She never shuts up about them. It’s like, I’m not even thirty, and I already have a couple. Get over it, lady.”
According to those who can hear the apocalyptic rantings from their offices and apartments, Raskin’s story is as follows:
While performing her routine lady maintenance six weeks prior, Raskin had the misfortune to stumble across one single grey pubic hair. A traumatizing grey pubic hair, as it turned out—because it was the first she’d ever had. Aghast, she ran to get her tweezers, but screeched to a halt when she remembered her grandmother’s warning: “If you pluck a white hair, seventy-two thousand will grow back in its place.”
Desperate to rid herself of the grey intruder, Raskin decided to just mow down her entire vajoo with her trusty Schick Trim Style—but that only postponed the inevitable. After several days of itchy regrowth, the offending pube was back, and it was thicker and whiter than ever.
Rapidly running out of solutions, Raskin tried coating the hair with mascara, but it proved to be a fool’s errand, also ruining her best pair of Victoria’s Secret cheeksters. Inconsolable, she was left with nothing to turn to but her Bible—in particular, the Book of Revelation.
“Somewhere between staining her panties with Covergirl LashBlast, and binge-reading the Book of Revelation for 48 straight hours, Anne totally lost it,” confided best friend Shelley Zusak, who wishes to remain anonymous. “She convinced herself that she’d discovered a missing ‘Eighth Seal’—a plague of grey pubic hair upon the land.”
When asked what “land” she thought Raskin was referring to, Zusak looked uncertain. “I guess her vagina? Who the f*** knows.”
Who the f*** knows, indeed.
This evening, as the sun sets on Capitol Square, Raskin’s prophecies can be heard as far south as the Riffe Center: “And when He had opened the seventh seal, there was silence in Heaven about the space of half an hour. And I saw the seven angels which stood before God; and to them were given seven trumpets.
“But before they sounded the seven trumpets, an elder angel came and stood at the altar; and his name was Pubus.
“And Pubus took the censer, and filled it with grey pubes from the altar, and cast them to the Earth: and there were voices shrieking “What the hell? I’m only 38!”; and there were the buzzings of clippers, and the clickings of tweezers, and the frantic dialings of estheticians and the schedulings of Brazilian waxes.”